Head Over Feels

She nods. “You’re ready.”

“Maybe we grab a coffee instead?” We walk half a block in silence before I ask, “Why do you work at the law firm?” I open the door, and we enter the coffee shop. The sound of conversation and orders being called fills the air.

While we wait in line, she replies, “I don’t just work there. I’m achieving my goal of being an executive assistant. I also believe in you, and we make a great team.”

“We do.”

After ordering our drinks, we sit at a table by the window. I shouldn’t be exhausted, but I squeeze the bridge of my nose and can’t help but ask, “Why do you believe in me? I’m a divorce lawyer, Ashleigh. You could work for any other type of attorney. I’m not changing the world. I’m not helping people in need. I’m breaking families apart and fighting to dismantle a life they built together while destroying their kids’ lives in the process.” She cocks her head to the side and stares at me like I’m out of my right mind.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Rad.”

I never used to question what I was doing. I’ve wanted to be a divorce attorney since my family was ripped apart in the middle of a courtroom. I want to make a difference for kids in the same scenario. Ensure they aren’t forgotten or used as bargaining chips—something I refuse to do. Ever. So why am I seeing my chosen path in life in a new light? “Do I?”

“Bear with me here.” She sits forward, resting her hands on the table. “You’re wrong about me willingly working for other attorneys. I work for you because you help people out of bad situations, situations that destroy them and the people around them. It’s an ugly process that our world dictates, not you. You aren’t tearing them apart. You’re giving clients hope for a happier future.” She stops and looks out the window, seeming to gather her thoughts. “You’re more than your job, Rad,” she says, her eyes on me. “You’re a friend who stands by their side through one of the most difficult times of their lives. And that is why I work for you and not for the firm.”

“Like I always say, everyone needs an Ashleigh on their side.”

I’m grinning when she says, “Robert Marché canceled again. He’s open for a video call next week, but he’s stuck in California and can’t get back to New York until after the fifteenth.”

Personally, that suits me just fine. Professionally, I’m starting to wonder if he even wants this divorce by how much time he’s spending back in LA. “He’s focusing on business there while reassuring me that his priorities are here. It’s not adding up. Can you verify the residency clause? He’s walking a fine line, and I can’t let him jeopardize my career by not protecting ourselves.” Residency is not an issue I’ve encountered with a client before since they usually live here year-round. It’s a given. I do know that if he’s trying to get the sweeter deal by lying, that will play into the outcome.

When our names are called, I get up and wait at the counter, not wanting to think about the partner position or get lost in the weeds of the minutiae of my cases. I need a clear head for that.

Thinking about Tealey is much more entertaining, even with the topic of marriage coming at me sooner than expected. Marriage is something that I’ve let skate by whenever it was even hinted at by a woman. But I’m glad Tealey talked to me, even if it wasn’t an easy conversation to have. She’s making sure she’s on a path that leads to what she wants. She’s protecting herself, and I can respect that.

Knowing I’ll see her in a few hours helps return my good mood. The way we’ve flirted for the past month has been fun, and then how we progressed to acting on those flirtations in the Hamptons.

In the last week alone, I’ve discovered she makes delicious deconstructed eggplant Parmesan and mixes a mean paloma cocktail.

The woman’s got mad cooking skills, and though she carries doubts that her bedroom skills are up to par, I tell her the results speak for themselves. And then I apologize for coming so fast.

Retrieving the drinks, I notice how the paper cups are lacking in design. Tealey could fix that.

I set the cups down on the table and sit across from Ashleigh again. I open the file to review that everything is in order and all my paperwork is here as a backup to what I filed online. Ashleigh says, “Can I say something about your personal life? Share an observation?”

Some teens walk in, talking loudly, and cause me to look up. Returning my attention to Ashleigh, I say, “Of course.”